January 10, 2011

~*~ MD ~*~

Merle pulls the front-end loader to a halt. Between his original equipment, Arthur's, and a few pieces brought in just in case, they've managed to cut paths everywhere absolutely essential to Homestead folks to get to. They even can get all the way to the front gate on Arthur's old place, not that anyone's leaving the property.

The storm is one of those rare ones to hit Georgia. Snow started around bedtime last night and just kept coming, and while at first he was grateful it was snow and not sleet, by the time the weather station the school kids set up hit the seven inch mark, he's figuring it's now becoming a larger problem. So, while those who can run the equipment make sure everything can be accessed, especially the animals, Carol's got a team running door to door checking on how the heat is holding up. So many of these systems are new and untested, and he's honestly surprised nothing came over the radio about any problems.

Worst part is, they've lost contact with the Virginia-bound team. He reminds himself that the folks were picked for having more than their fair share of common sense. They're either holed up somewhere or maybe the storm didn't hit as badly that far north. Without having to worry about supplies or fuel, they're only having to route around traffic jams. They crossed the Savannah River by nightfall the first day, on the eighth, on US Highway 123 sticking to the smaller US and state highways where the jams are easier to clear. When they checked in last night around eight, they were north of Spartanburg despite reporting snow. It wasn't unexpected, considering the elevation.

The mountain route seemed an advantage initially, because it avoids the big population centers and the patterns they've seen of the walker herds is that they tend to congregate more in the flatlands than heading uphill. While he's pretty damned sure his big 4x4 dually and the M35 can manage the snow in the mountains, the school bus he has his doubts about. With any luck, if they are on the move, Abraham made the call that Honey shouldn't be driving the damn thing in winter weather.

He thumps to the ground and tromps toward the watch building. Folks have been busy up here too, clearing the smaller areas they can't get the loaders or tractors into, so it's an easy enough trek.

Mandy turns as soon as he enters, and she grins. "Was just about to send out the message. We had radio contact, although it's spotty due to the weather. They figured out the snow was looking bad and started heading northeast to get out of the storm. Drove part of the night and made it into North Carolina. Took Danny a bit to get the newest repeater in place due to the weather."

"Where are they?" he asks, stepping to the map they have on the wall in here for the watch to mark.

"North of Charlotte." She sounds excited, and he doesn't blame her. After the struggles the groups from Texas, Kentucky, Alabama, and Florida faced, no one really expected them to make this kind of time. "Christopher says they're gonna take off the rest of the day though, now that they're north of worst of the storm, so they won't make any more mileage today."

With this kind of progress, they'll be in Richmond within a week, he thinks, although they'll be taking a roundabout to avoid the big population areas of Winston-Salem and Greensboro. The detour north across the Virginia line would add a handful of hours before. Now, it might add another day, depending on what they encounter. He's glad they're carrying enough fuel to theoretically make it up there and back, and he saw the gleam in his daughter's eyes when their route went right by Martinsville, Virginia. He suspects they'll be doing a supply run at the speedway.

He isn't sure the return will be as swift, partly because they're likely to have more people to move. Most of the folks sent on the team are used to moving fast and rough. He's not sure anyone holed up in a community all this time will be as durable about it.

"Any signs of big herds?" he asks.

"None so far, but they're keeping a close watch being so close to that metro area."

"Go ahead and send out the community wide message. I imagine a lot of folks are anxious as hell." Like Carol, who has probably driven everyone within arm's length batty keeping busy.

He silences his radio as Mandy dispatches the message so it won't echo. "You ladies have lunch before you came on duty?"

"Yeah. They had boxed lunches ready for us." Nichelle, the other woman on watch, motions toward their discards in the trash. The watch room is small, half of one of the container buildings, with stations for six people, although they never run more than two per watch. With a bathroom and mini-kitchen between the watch room and the meeting room, it's self-contained for the watch folks, other than full meals.

"Alright. Enjoy watching the snow, ladies."

They laugh, turning back to the screens, which cycle through a lot of blanketed white outside the walls and a few brave working souls within adding a little color.

The snow's still falling, at two in the afternoon, but he's starving, and he's hopeful they've cleared the worst of it for now. He does swing by the weather station on the way, shaking his head at the snow nearing the eight-inch mark.

He sheds his winter gear and even his boots at the door to the community center. The row of footwear shows that everyone's had the same idea, not to track snow further in. He makes a mental note to add a true enclosed porch to the place so folks can leave footwear on racks and save the folks on duty from extra cleaning when the weather's bad.

The watch room was warm enough, but the community center is outright toasty. He suspects having over half the residents here and playing games or watching a group movie on one end adds to the warmth, but he's glad to see the heating system holding up for such a large room.

"Was starting to think you were going to stay out there all day," Carol quips as he sidles up to the counter. It doesn't take long for her to ladle up some of the leftover stew from lunch and slide a couple of pieces of cornbread over with it.

He shrugs. Between the enclosed cab on the front-end loader and the thermos of hot tea she sent along, the worst part of the morning was the need to take a piss midway through in 25-degree weather. "Figured better to get it done all at once."

She follows him to a sparsely populated table with two mugs of hot tea and joins him while he makes short work of the food.

"Sounds like we may have them back sooner than expected," she comments.

"If their luck holds. Although after they end up on in a damned snowstorm dropping this much snow in Georgia, you have to wonder at the luck sometimes."

She smiles. "I suppose we should be glad they were alert and got away from the worst of the storm. If we got this much here, can you imagine the mountains it came down out of?" She consults her notebook. "Figure it'll stick around a few days, so I'm rotating the crews that can't work to give some time off to those who can."

"Sounds like a plan. Folks working with the animals are going to need extra help to get things done faster. I know folks up north deal with colder temps longer, but no sense in being risky." He's just glad they do have enough barn space for the animals that need it.

Hershel takes a seat, looking thoughtful and somehow pleased. He's holding a notebook of his own and waits til he has both their attention. "I'm sure you're aware a few of the couples around here have decided it's safe to add to the population."

"Ah hell. We're about to get hit with a bunch of September babies, aren't we?" Merle says. He resists a joke about men giving unwrapped presents, all things considered, since Carol's a mess of careful charts and tracking at the moment.

"And considering these confirmed pregnancies are the ones actively trying, we may have more. As much as we like to think of birth control as infallible, it isn't always," Hershel says. "They're testing in early and all numbers look good for all three women, but since we've got the opportunity for very early care here, we're taking it."

"You keep smiling, Hershel. Should I hazard a guess that one of the ladies is Maggie?" Carol asks. She looks excited for the young woman, and Merle remembers she was one of Carol's earliest friends here, despite the age difference.

"You are correct." His smile widens, making his ongoing resemblance to Santa stronger. "None of them want to publicly announce anything yet, but Cricket brought me the report. I figure by Valentine's Day, the news will be out on all of them. Cricket's got the plans written up, but she wants to meet with you, Carol, to review, when you have a chance since you're aiming to be her primary backup."

"Might as well go over there now. Studying is something that can happen even in eight inches of snow." She kisses Merle goodbye, leaving him with Hershel, who still keeps sitting there with a soft smile.

"What're you not telling yet?" he asks, narrowing his eyes at Hershel.

"Maybe you should follow her and find out?"

If that's the only answer he's getting, he figures he might as well take the advice. The man knows something, and with the way his family expanded, he suspects one of the three other than Maggie is adding to his grandchild count.

~*~ CP ~*~

Carol can't help but laugh at Merle. As much as she yearns for a child of theirs, today's news is just as good. Although only one will be biologically Dixon, they're expecting three new grandchildren, all at once. He shoots her a look that's definitely more pretend disgruntled than legitimately so, before giving her a kiss.

"Andrea's going to have kittens when she hears," Carol tells him. "She was telling me not that long ago she's not ready to be an aunt."

"That might explain why the ladies said to wait to tell the travelers until they get back."

Aside from the risk telling anyone this early on. Carol thinks normally even Merle might not have been told yet by his daughter - and daughters-in-law - if Carol wasn't training as a midwife. Cricket could have had one of the doctors or even Lilly oversee things to keep it a surprise longer, but she's glad she didn't.

"She should have had a clue from how determined Jamie's been to finish that cabin." Carol remembers noting the roof was on the place back when they started the little RV village for the three former prisoners. She suspects in the weeks since, it's nearly finished. Jamie got a lot of helping hands, because everyone knows he's willing to trade his own time in their cabins too.

"Hell, I think the boy would be living in it to finish it if the heat was hooked up." He glances at the clock and levers himself off the couch in their quarters. "Got a story time to attend."

She kisses him as he leaves, still feeling that thrill that months later, he still makes time to read to Sophia. She's not his only audience, because Carol's seen the other teenagers cluster around and absorb the tales as if they were small ones themselves, but the only nights he's missed have been when the kids were having gatherings of their own, or the rare nights he's been out of Homestead.

She's working on the new outfit she's making for Christian, feeling contentedly pleased that she'll have even more babies to sew for soon, when there's a knock at the door. The door's open, but she smiles at Cricket for the courtesy knock.

Her stepdaughter was so happy she just shown with it earlier, but now she's subdued, holding a shoebox in her hands. "Got a minute?"

Carol nods and Cricket sits beside her on the couch, fiddling with the box lid. Rather than press, she waits on the young woman to find the right words.

"Michonne said she mentioned to you that I contacted my mother a few years ago."

"She did. I admit I'm curious, but it didn't seem to be something you wanted to talk about."

"It's not a positive thing for the family, hearing anything about her." Cricket's expression is sad and pensive. "Not even for me, not really, but I got to a point where I needed answers more than I needed to pretend she didn't exist anymore."

"I don't think anyone would blame you for that."

"No, although Dad and Michonne are the only ones who know. But there's something she asked of me that I'm not comfortable being the only one deciding, but I'm not sure Dad's ready for deciding either. I thought maybe you might be a better judge on that, since he's more likely to talk to you than risk upsetting one of us." She slides the lid of the box off, revealing a stack of letters secured together by a rubber band. Those are postmarked, and from the top one, it confirms Michonne's assessment of the contact going back several years. But underneath the bundle are loose letters, which Cricket pulls out of the box and hands to Carol.

Carol absently notes that none of these are postmarked or set up for postal delivery, so they must have come to Cricket in a larger package. Most are thin, probably containing no more than a page or two at most. Those are all addressed to the four children other than Cricket. One thick, heavy envelope is addressed to Merle.

"She told me to give them to them if they ever seemed ready. I haven't read them, but I assume they're explanations or apologies or similar. Maybe like the early letters I had with her. But every time I think they might be close to ready, something happens to tell me I shouldn't." She sighs. "And if the younger two aren't asking questions about her, I don't want to make them start, not really. They've got a mama now and may not ever really wonder."

"May I ask why you did?" It sounds like Cricket wants her help in deciding, and Carol's lost for what criteria would apply to make children seek out an absentee parent with the history Lilliana has.

"I found Dad's album one weekend, when we were packing up to move from the old house to here."

The lingering hurt in her voice makes Carol think on those images and make the same connection she suspects the young woman next to her did. Lilliana changed after Cricket was born.

"What did she tell you?"

"She didn't make excuses, at least, but she did try to explain. And she sent me some of her medical records." Cricket's fingers glide over a thicker envelope in the bottom of the box. "There was part of me that needed to know if it could happen to any of us, to just snap like that. Once you start studying pre-med, you see all sorts of things, mental illnesses, that have onsets at differing ages."

"And hers?" Carol's not entirely sure she wants to know.

"The post-partum thing was likely accurate. Back then, they didn't understand it could go beyond a few early months, and settle in as a long-term illness if untreated. But when she did seek out care, nothing quite fit until she saw a psychiatry professor as part of a study down in Austin at the medical school. He diagnosed her with schizotypal personality disorder, that likely manifested after untreated post-partum depression." She glances to Carol and sees her confusion. "It's considered part of the same spectrum as schizophrenia, because the behaviors can overlap, but she's not subject to hallucinations and delusions. It manifests with social isolation, inability to form personal attachments, distorted thinking, disorganized speech, and flat affect, just to name off the criteria that they use in her medical paperwork. It's usually accompanied by a mood disorder. In her case, that's the ongoing major depressive disorder."

Cricket grimaces, still rubbing the edges of that larger envelope. "The medications they've experimented with over the past ten years reads like a damned pharmaceutical catalog. Anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, whatever trial might help. She's done all the therapies too."

"And has anything helped?" Carol can't imagine what sounds like her predecessor's mind turning on itself, if it's anything like her understanding of schizophrenia itself.

"Here and there. Never enough that she was willing to press the issue of seeing the younger kids with Dad. She felt we were better off... safer... without her involved. Said Dad allowed her enough of a safety net without making his life harder."

The thought of feeling that one's family was safer without you sounds terrifying to Carol. Cricket's using that word for a reason, and considering all the pieces she's put together of the chaos of the Dixons' lives after the divorce, she wonders if things would have been different without Will Dixon's attack, or if something else would have spiraled things to a conclusion. She doesn't want to feel empathy toward the woman, but it's there now, just a tiny kernel.

"You think these letters explain that?" She feels as if the lightweight envelopes weight a hundred pounds in her hands.

"I hope so. I should read them, but to be honest, I've been afraid to even consider any of them but the two younger kids. I know so much of the dark parts of the family history that I really haven't wanted to know more. It's cowardly, but sometimes it's just so much. Although my counselor back in Atlanta assures me it's actually healthy to not want to know every last detail."

"I'll talk to your dad about them." Because now that she knows they exist, Carol can't conceive of not letting Merle know they're there. They'll decide it together, but if she has her way, none of them will leave her hands to the children without at least one of them reading them. She'd sooner set herself on fire than hand such an unknown factor out into her still-recovering family. "But why today?"

Cricket replaces the lid on the box and slides one hand to her own very flat stomach. "Because if everything I've read and everyone I talked to can't really tell me why it happened to her, I'm always going to worry about genetics."

Carol sets the letters on the coffee table and tugs her stepdaughter into her arms. "Oh, sweetheart, I promise you, that's not something we'll ever let slide by us, but I pray it's a worry for naught."

Cricket curls into the hug, allowing herself to be comforted.

Imagining warm-hearted, loving Cricket as anything other than who she is now is almost impossible, but Carol means what she says. If this child of her heart needs Carol to be her safety net so that no child of hers ever walks the path of extreme neglect her siblings did, she can do that for her.

~*~ LG ~*~

Lori ended up staying in the cabin today after she spotted the accumulating snowfall, letting Abby go with Carl to play in the snow as long as they could tolerate the cold. He shuffled his sister back after a while up at the community center, bringing an already-made lunch, a grocery restock of supper ingredients, and a stack of DVDs she knew were selected as much for her as the two kids and the pair that trailed in behind them. She's always happy to see Jazz and Sophia, glad the friendship with Carl is still holding strong even with her son's new girlfriend.

For her worries months ago about Carl drifting away from her as he moves into his teen years, he's certainly seeming to do the opposite lately. Rick theorizes he's responding to both of them being happy, something they weren't for far too long.

Despite the snow, Daryl ended up taking two teams out to assess the fence perimeters after eating lunch with them. No one wanted any surprises in infrastructure from snow buildup on the fence lines.

Her afternoon was spent watching television with the kids and combating a particularly pesky round of Braxton Hicks contractions, but thanks to Carl thinking ahead, she has supper underway with Jazz's help when she hears Daryl's distinctive thuds on the porch where he's kicking snow off his boots.

"You staying for supper, Jazz?" she asks. She suspects Carl's hoping as much, considering the quantities he brought, but she's also not sure her son remembered to actually invite the others to stay.

"If you like. Monday's are your family night though, aren't they?"

She supposes it tells her something about the boy's personality that he's more than willing to help her cook a meal he isn't officially invited to eat yet.

"There's enough here for two more. Carl probably would like it if you stayed the night." She's actually a little ashamed of herself that she's never asked the older teenager to stay over with Carl. It's an old habit from when Carl preferred sleepovers at his friends' houses instead of his own.

Daryl's managed to shed his boots and coveralls without getting snow everywhere and adds his two cents. "Ain't any further for you to do your rounds with the sheep if you stay over," he advises. He brushes a kiss across her cheek, grinning when she yelps a little at how damned cold his nose is.

"Alright. I'll grab some clothes when I walk Sophia home."

It's rather sweet that the main house is so close, yet he still insists on escorting his young girlfriend.

"Rick and Rosita will be down in about fifteen minutes. She was checking out how the vehicles handled the snow and roped him into helping her and Jim," Daryl tells her.

She has to laugh a little. Rick is competent at many things, but mechanical skills are not among them. She wishes Rosita luck.

With the potatoes for mashed potatoes boiling, the broccoli and cauliflower steaming, and the wood ear mushroom salad done, she steps back to let Jazz finish the braised rabbit he's got going in the big cast iron skillet. It means Daryl immediately wraps his arms around her when she's clear of the stove.

He murmurs low in her ear. "Just think this time last year, can you imagine you'd be eating rabbit alongside mushrooms your kid helped snag out of the woods and looking forward to it?"

She laughs, knowing it was so far beyond her norm back then that she wouldn't have been able to imagine it. Now the meals they have separate from the big community ones almost always contain something hunted or scavenged by a family member, although that's less often with winter in full swing. The wood ears are some of the ugliest mushrooms cooked up that she's ever seen, but they're so tasty that she even offered Jazz a handful to cook alongside his rabbit. The dehydrator on the counter is something she never would have owned before all this, but now, it's rare to have a day go by without something being preserved in the appliance.

"You go take a seat and we'll finish up," Daryl offers, and she's certainly not turning that down. With seven weeks to go on the pregnancy, she can't decide if she wants it to rush by or slow down. She wants their daughter here and healthy, but after Carl, she can't help but be nervous.

Seven more weeks to answers as to whether or not her body's up for a delivery without surgical assistance.

She pushes that thought away as she gets swarmed by Abby and Sophia, both eager to talk to the baby. At least with all these enthusiastic children around, she never has to sit and make worried kick counts. Asskicker's always happy to live up to her name with her family's encouragement.

~*~ EF ~*~

Eugene slips into the chair at the watch station he's been taking over. He went back on the rotation after Honey left, but taking on the evening shift. Conditions are usually best for late evening contact from the traveling group, so while she may be hundreds of miles away, he usually gets to speak to Honey once a day. He's glad he learned enough Chamorro by the time of the endeavor to return the Fishers to their Virginia home, since it means they can stick to his idea of using a language not just anyone can understand if they happen across the frequency.

He wishes he had been here earlier, when they confirmed safety from the snowstorm, but he is doing his best to keep his promise to Honey that he won't isolate himself without her prodding him along. He can't spend all his time with Rosita; they would both go completely insane, and he's self-aware enough now to acknowledge that. So, he took some of the wealth of engineering related books to the community center and spent the day reading at least among people, even if he initially avoided socialization.

Ironically, the textbooks draw positive interest here. At different times during the day, he had visitors to his table, and various discussions left him with so many ideas of new things to research. He wishes he knew more about ham radio before they left. Now, he's got access to information about using the moon itself to bounce signals, but those now across the border into North Carolina don't have the equipment for the antenna. Everything they packed focused on the repeaters and leaving a trail behind them, but he suspects and fears they'll actually lose contact once they're in Virginia. The texts someone liberated from the amateur radio club the next county over give records of challenges on how far they could get their radios to reach, and while there are some impressive records under the right conditions, he doesn't want to assume it'll happen.

He isn't looking forward to days or even weeks of radio silence, especially at the apex of a trip no one knows how dangerous it might be. So far, luck is holding. He only prays it continues to do so.

He didn't push Honey for a firm commitment to anything before she left. He contented himself with the fact that she spent every single night in his apartment, with or without sex being involved. It's like their routine just shifted a step sideways, with him no longer having to fear her discovering he finds her alluring. Instead of dashes back to her own apartment in the morning to shower, her things collected at his. He didn't want to jinx it by asking just how much of her belongings, if any, were still in the building next door. He's tempted, now, to ask Lydia. The girl would probably tell him.

He didn't get enough time with the freedom to touch her skin. Her scent is faded from the bedding already, that lovely perfume with the vanilla and musk base notes. He was never sure it was her perfume or shampoo until she left the perfume bottle behind in his bathroom. He wonders if it's wrong to mist the spray on the pillow to help him sleep. He suspects she wouldn't mind, but he also knows enough about the chemistry of perfume to know it simply won't smell the same sprayed from the bottle. It'll smell like the berries it does when fresh sprayed.

The radio comes to life and he allows himself to smile as he hears Honey's voice. Oliver just grins and states he's got a call of nature. The older man will give him a few minutes where they can delay the official report and instead just talk a few minutes, even if he sometimes scrambles for vocabulary and has to substitute a Spanish word to Honey's amusement to keep English off the air as much as possible.

This pushes away all the worries and doubts, of the fact that he's not able to travel at her side, but men like Tim and Danny can. Those will return in the depths of the night in his apartment, that she'll realize he's not of the same caliber as they are, but for now, she sounds so happy to hear him reply back that he allows himself hope.